


An Assassin Walked into a Bar

by ChasingLyrics



Series: The Photographer and the Assassin [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Assassin Dean Winchester, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Minor Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Photographer Castiel, Sequel, Smut, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 07:52:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14015706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasingLyrics/pseuds/ChasingLyrics
Summary: You know it's never going to go well when you have to tell your boyfriend that you kill people for a living





	An Assassin Walked into a Bar

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure how well this'll work as a stand-alone so I'm gunna point you towards Part 1. Have fun!

It has been three years since Dean had been approached in that pub by Castiel and although they were rarely on the same continent, let alone in the same country, he felt like he could safely say that they were in a relationship. Whenever they were within four hours of each other, whether that was by plane, train, boat or car, they found the time between assignments to get together, aiming to meet at least once a month. Most of the time they were lucky to be able to meet more often than that

There was only one issue. Cas still thought that Dean was a photographer. Well, Dean thought as he sat in a booth at Starbucks listening to a job offer, staring down at an image of someone holding a camera to their eye, there was one way to break the news to him. Because there was no way that Dean could mistake the crazy, almost black, bedhead of his boyfriend, the small white scars standing out against the tanned skin of his knuckles from bar fights when he’d been in college. He knew the camera was concealing a set of the most stunning blue eyes.

“I want him dead before he can expose what my company is doing,” Dean let an eyebrow rise as he sat back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest, biting his tongue from asking what secrets he didn’t want revealed. Sometimes it was hard to remember that as an assassin, a hitman, he wasn’t supposed to care about who he killed or why, that he didn’t follow a code, focusing on how much he was going to get paid.

“I’m offering a quarter of a million,” the client said, and Dean’s ears perked up, “But, I’ll only give you ten grand upfront,” When Dean opened his mouth, the man’s hand went up to silence him, “While I believe you’re good at your job Mr. Hunter, I thought I’d play a little game, something entertaining.”

“Go on,” Dean said through gritted teeth, when it was clear that he wasn’t going to say anything more without being prompted.

“I’ve approached several hitmen and made them the same offer, ten grand now and if you’re the one to kill Castiel Novak, you get a quarter of a million.” Dean swallowed, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut as he took a deep breath, trying to control his facial muscles so that he looked calm as he nodded, reaching a hand across the table to shake on the deal, “Good luck hunting.”  

 

Dean came back to himself in his hotel room when there was a loud banging on the door. He blinked, surprised to see his room looked like a hurricane had swept through it, furniture tossed, glasses smashed and his knuckles dripping blood. The knocking at his door got more insistent and tucking one hand into the pocket of his jeans, he answered the door, body angled so that the small man standing in the corridor wearing a uniform with the hotel’s logo, couldn’t see past him.

“Excuse me sir, there have been several complaints about loud bangs and screams coming from your room.” Dean resisted the urge to rub a hand across his jaw, instead giving the man a sheepish smile.

“Yeah, sorry about that, I’ll be quiet now,” when that didn’t seem to cut it for the man, Dean sighed, eyes closing briefly, “Look man, I’m sorry, I just got dumped by my boyfriend and I’m not handling it very well apparently. I’ll pay for the damages when I check out.” The man looked like he wanted to see the room, but Dean steeled himself, willing tears into his eyes – which wasn’t hard, his emotions had never been this close to the surface. Seeing the watery eyes, Dean watched the man accept his claims and disappear down the hall, clearly muttering about the weirdo in room three-oh-seven.

Shutting the door, Dean slid down it to slump on the floor, staring at his bloody knuckles, his mind finally calm – well calm enough not to break anything else in the room – enough that he could begin thinking of a plan to save his boyfriend’s life. Across the room, his phone began to vibrate on the shelf beside the bed. He knew it’d be Castiel. His partner had the uncanny ability to call just when he needed to hear his voice. And despite Dean wanting to reassure himself that Cas was safe and well at this moment, he knew he’d be unable to withhold the information he knew. And it wasn’t exactly something you told over the phone.

He sat against the door for several hours in the darkening room, coming to the conclusion that he’d broken the light fixtures during his outburst. The darkness was somewhat comforting, allowing him to focus his thoughts, begin to plan. He didn’t worry about the time as he picked up his mobile, seeing that it was after midnight, calling Cas’s number and lifting the phone to his ear.

“If I didn’t love you,” the groggy voice almost broke Dean’s wall against his emotions, “I’d have to kill you for waking me up at half three in the morning.”

“Hey Cas,” the assassin spoke softly, calculating the time difference in his head and realizing that the two of them were, for once both in the States at the same time, “I was wondering something,” he swallowed, and Cas seemed to pick up that something was bothering him.

“Dean, you know you can talk to me about anything, don’t you?”

“Yeah Cas,” he hummed slightly under his breath, “Just don’t wanna delve into a chick-flick moment but,” he took a deep breath, “You know it’s coming to our three-year anniversary of us getting together.”

“Of course, Dean, your present’s been sitting in my bag for two months,” Dean flushed, glad that he was on his own at that moment, “Though if you’re stuck on ideas for me, I’d love to shoot you.” Dean choked, croaking out a confused “what?”

“I mean I’d need to rent out a studio, but I’d love to get you in front of my camera.”

There was  sigh of relief from Dean that thankfully Cas didn’t comment on it as Dean tried to change the topic as well as calm his thoughts.

“Well what do you say to heading back to that pub, making it an actual vacation?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah Cas,” he smiled slightly, “My work is kinda slow at the moment, so why don’t I book a cabin, how does the Forest of Dean sound,” there was a snort across the line and Dean had to give a roll of his eyes, “I’m trying to have a serious conversation, get your mind out of the gutter. Anyway, wanna join me this weekend?”

“Jeez Dean, you don’t give me a lot of time, do you?”

“Cas, our whole relationship is spontaneous, this would be no different to me turning up tomorrow.” There was a heavy sigh through the phone and Dean knew that eyes were being rolled, “You know you like the idea of the two of us shut away from the world for a week or two.” Dean hoped that his voice wasn’t as pleading as he thought it sounded.

“Fine,” the reply came finally, “I’ll send you my card details if you book me a flight from Atlanta and I’ll pack up my stuff, I’ve got no immediate deadlines, but I’ll still let my boss know.” Dean sighed with relief and his partner heard.

“You didn’t think I’d come?”

“Well I wasn’t sure if I was gunna have to spend the next two weeks tree hugging in a forest to feel like I have contact with anything.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You love it though.”

“Yeah, I do,” he sighed, “Even when you wake me up at stupid o’clock.”

“I’m sorry about that,” he murmured, “I’ll send you the details when I’ve booked the flight while you go back to sleep.” He pushed himself to his feet, stepping over the debris to collapse down on his bed, “I love you Cas, you know that right.”

“I know Dean, I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

There was a click as the photographer hung up and Dean considered getting a few hours shut eye but realized that he was already being last minute in his planning and reached slowly for his laptop that was sticking out of his kit bag, looking thankfully unscathed. He booked a direct flight to Heathrow airport, debating whether to send him via Amsterdam or Madrid before deciding that the quicker he was here, the better it was. He then managed to secure a cabin in the Forest of Dean – for an extortionate price but it wasn’t like he didn’t earn enough to be able to afford it.

It was only after he’d emailed Cas the details, saying that he’d collect him from the pub where they’d first met, knowing that he’d follow his boyfriend from the airport just to make sure, that Dean told him in no uncertain terms that he wouldn’t take a single penny for the plane tickets, despite how much Cas was determined to pout at him over FaceTime, it was only then that he was able to collapse on his bed, the laptop open next to him, falling into an exhausted sleep, his body throbbing in protest from his outburst.

 

“Hey Siri, text Cas.”

“What would you like to say?”

“Almost here.”

The phone fell silent as it tried to work through the request, Dean rolling his eyes that the technology struggled with just a few short words. It would probably be quicker and easier to reach up and type out the message himself, but there was something about driving in the UK that made him uneasy. It was probably because he wasn’t behind the wheel of the ’67 Impala that his father had given him at sixteen, he didn’t trust the German made car he was in.

The text finally sent as Dean was reversing into the gravel parking lot belonging to the pub, pulling in a couple of spaces down from the hire car that belonged to Cas, giving himself a moment to calm his heartrate, eyes closed as he stilled his mind. It was only when he opened his eyes that he realized that there were several other hire cars in the parking lot and that fact alone put him on edge. Slowly, he reached into the backseat for his kitbag, taking out a bowie hunting knife and his trusty Colt M1911A1, running his fingers over the engraving on the slide and the ivory grips, comforted by the weight in his hand. The knife he slipped into the thin sheath that he’d sewn into the inside of his boot and the Colt was tucked into the holster that was settled at his lower back, forcing him out of the car to get it into place without shooting himself in the butt.

Reaching back into the car, he swiped up his wallet and two mobile phones from the center console, straightening up with the horrid feeling that he was missing something vital. Deciding to handle this with extreme caution, he slipped his arms into the black leather jacket, Cas had brought him for their second anniversary. He’d hoped that by having direct contact with Cas he’d had an advantage over the others in this “competition”.

He took a deep breath, crossing the parking lot quickly to avoid being soaked with the rain that had suddenly come out of nowhere. Luckily the pub door was propped, and he was able to duck inside, taking a moment to shake the water from his hair and stomp his boots on the welcome mat. He didn’t know why he did it, but it was definitely a habit he’d picked up from his partner.

Looking around the pub, he had to admit that the British knew what they were doing when it came to drinking spaces. In the center of the room was a chimney above an open fireplace that warmed both halves of the bar, the music soft enough that it slipped away into the background, allowing for quiet conversation alongside the cheering and booing in the direction of the TV where a soccer game was playing.

With a scan of the room, Dean spotted Cas sitting at the bar, almost in the exact spot where the assassin had once spread out maps for his work. In front of his partner were two pints of what looked like a pale ale. He made to step further into the bar when he noticed the eyes on his boyfriend. These weren’t the usual looks of appraisal – he’d have to be blind not to notice how Cas’s looks attracted attention, his boyfriend was absolutely stunning. But the looks set Dean on edge, because they weren’t the looks of someone who’d found something – someone – beautiful to look at, no these were the looks of a predator narrowing in on their prey and were now simply lying in wait.

“Jimmy!” Dean bounced over to his boyfriend, spinning the man by the shoulder so that they were looking at each other, Cas’s arms thrown out for balance at the stool’s sudden movement. The assassin leant in for a brief kiss, “It’s nice to see you in person instead of Skype,” Cas’s eyebrow rose ever so slightly, “How are Cas and Emmanuel?” The photographer’s expression turned to one of utter confusion as he looked into Dean’s green eyes, trying to understand what was going on, though a flare in his eyes made Dean think he was in the doghouse.

“My brothers are fine,” Castiel finally said, swallowing before he spoke, blue eyes telling the assassin that he was waiting on an explanation. Dean slotted himself between Castiel’s thighs, cupping his face in his calloused hands, feeling the five o’clock shadow along his jaw. With gentle movements, Dean moved in to kiss Castiel, starting with his mouth, deepening it for a moment before letting his lips trail along his jaw to the sensitive spot just below his ear.

“We have to leave,” he whispered, “Like now.” There were a couple of minutes where Dean kissed his way down to where Castiel’s collar rested, sucking a mark onto the skin there before pulling back, very obviously adjusting his pants as though he was trying to conceal an erection. Which you know, wasn’t too difficult seeing as just kissing his boyfriend had gotten him half hard.

“Whadda you say,” Dean spoke loudly enough for his voice to carry, “We skip dinner and head back to my place?” It was clear that his offer surprised Castiel. In the three years that they’d been dating, not once had Dean invited him back to his hotel room, it had always been Cas’s. The assassin leant in, lowering his voice, “What do you say, _sir_?” Castiel’s eyes flared as Dean knew they would at the use of the title, playing into the fact that it turned the older man on more than anything else when the assassin – who was taller, broader and more muscular – submitted to him.

Castiel swallowed roughly, pulling out his wallet to toss a couple of twenties down on the bar-top, pressing himself up against Dean for a second, deeper kiss on the lips before allowing Dean to tuck him under his arm and lead his boyfriend from the pub.

As soon as they’d stepped out into the rain, Castiel noticed the way Dean’s attitude changed from what could only be described as horny to something tense and awkward as he hurried Castiel to a small, Volkswagen. Dean ignored the squawk of indignation as he shoved Castiel inside the back seat, shutting the door as quietly as he could before creeping to the trunk, easing it open wide enough to tug out the kitbag before he made his way quietly to the driver’s door and climbing into the car. He knew that there was no point moving the vehicle yet as he hissed for Castiel to lie down on the seat, he himself slouched down so that he could only just see over the dashboard. He knew that it wouldn’t be long before the other hitmen were stepping out of the pub.

Dean considered the fact that they were lucky that there were lots of cars in the parking lot as he watched the pub door, heart racing ever so slightly as he waited for something to happen. There was the sound of shifting about on the back seat and a huff of breath on the back of his neck, alerted Dean to the oncoming question before Castiel’s voice could startle him out of his seat.

“What are we doing?” he asked softly, taking the minute where Dean remained silent to fall between the two front seats and right himself in the passenger seat, sitting like Dean was, low in the seat, “What’s going on?”

“Let’s get to my hotel Cas,” Dean whispered, Castiel clearly tensing as his tone set the older man on edge, “I promise I’ll explain everything when we’re there.” He hadn’t been looking at Castiel as he spoke, eyes narrowing on something out of the windscreen. Castiel followed his gaze as worry lines settled deep on Dean’s forehead, seeing three men standing just outside the pub, none of them talking. The photographer thought that they were all having a smoke before he realized that they were all looking out into the parking lot. There was a tense silence, Castiel wasn’t even sure that Dean was breathing, until the three men, after the briefest examination of a hire car that Castiel realized that after they’d walked away back into the pub, belonged to him.

The silence remained for several minutes afterwards before Dean straightened up slowly, taking a moment to compose himself before he inserted the key into the ignition and started the vehicle. There was a pain in his shoulders from tensing as the other hitmen had approached Castiel’s car and he’d had to battle against the urge to reach for his Colt because if there was one way for them to be discovered, it’d be Castiel yelling at him for producing a gun.

He pulled out of the parking lot, turning on the headlights as soon as the wheels hit the asphalt, turning towards the highway that would take them away from the small towns but towards London and the hotel he’d checked into, not wanting the chance of a hitman staying in the same hotel as them. It would take them about an hour to get to the hotel and normally, Dean would be blasting music and jamming against his steering wheel, but this time, the radio remained off. The couple drove in silence, Dean constantly looking over at his boyfriend, worried at how still he was, looking pointedly out of the window with his body turned away from his partner.

Part of him wanted to see how long he’d keep it up but after twenty minutes, Dean couldn’t take anymore and reached across the center console to gingerly link their fingers together, noticing how tense he was and wishing that he wasn’t the cause of it.

It was holding his boyfriend’s limp hand, unresponsive in his grip that the realization hit Dean like a punch to the chest. It was doubtful that after this night, Castiel would even want to hear his name, let alone see him ever again. He was losing the man he loved. Well at least he finally admitted it, even if it was just to himself. It had taken three years, but he was most definitely in love with the most amazing photographer, most amazing man he’d ever come across. Dean squeezed Castiel’s hand, knowing that it wouldn’t be returned, and he _just_ knew.

 

Castiel had the door open almost before Dean had pulled the VW into a parking space and switched off the engine. The photographer stood at the front of the car, arms folded tightly across his chest, glaring at the assassin through the windscreen. Slowly, reluctantly, Dean grabbed his kitbag and with a deep breath, got out of the vehicle. Castiel followed without a word as Dean led him through the lobby and into the elevators, taking one to the sixth floor. He’d requested a room that overlooked the hotel’s inner courtyard rather than the streets outside, it was his paranoid side coming out but, in this instance, giving in to those feelings helped him feel safe.

Approaching his room, Dean swiped the key card through the electronic lock, scowling when the light flashed red because who needed a normal key in these places. After several attempts, the light turned green and Dean, who’d been leaning heavily against the door, stumbled into his room when the door swung open. Castiel didn’t even chuckle as he followed, watching Dean scan the room before allowing himself to take it in. The photographer looked around, spotting several long black cases on the desk and chair. Assuming they were filled with camera kit, he looked at the bed. At the foot of the mattress was a blue duffle bag, the mess of bed sheets around it indicating that Dean had probably slept with it there. Dean was silent as he moved to clear the chair, arranging the cases on the desk, shifted his duffle to the floor and closed the curtains over the window, watching as Castiel stood stock still by the door.

“Well. Explain then,” Castiel snapped, watching Dean flinch back slightly. The younger man sat down on the bed, his hands tucked under his thighs in a clear attempt to stop wringing them. He looked nervous, chewing on his lip as Castiel walked to the desk chair, his hand running over the cases as a noise made him turn. Dean had his arm outstretched, fingers flexing as he opened his mouth. Castiel thought he was going to tell him to stop touching things.

“I err, guess I can’t stop you looking,” he murmured, a resigned look settling on his face, “I mean if you want to.” The photographer slumped down in the chair, frowning at the reluctant permission that had been given to him, studying the younger man before him.

“Explain.”

Dean looked up, staring at Castiel, shoulders turned in slightly. The photographer wondered what was so hard for his boyfriend to say when normally the man could keep him entertained for hours with random anecdotes of events that happened between the times where they met up. The thing was, he didn’t know how to tell Castiel.

“Someone put a hit on you.” His eyes widened. Well _apparently,_ he was just going to blurt it out. Screw tact. He’d hoped to at least break it to him softly. The photographer in question on was frozen in his seat, knuckles white where they clenched the arms of the chair he was sitting in. his expression was one of utter surprise and confusion. Wide blue eyes stared at sheepish green eyes as he gasped for breath, trying to find his voice.

“A hit?”

Dean freed his hands to run them tiredly over his face at his partner’s croak, having the truth out there didn’t make him feel any better and for a moment, his anger bubbled up too quickly for him to stop before he put his foot in it.

“As in you’ve pissed off someone high enough up the food chain that they can afford to put a hitman on your perky ass! Several in fact!”

Castiel blinked at the flare of anger that was rarely directed at him and he felt his own anger rise to meet it.

“Oh, so it’s my fault? How the hell did you even figure that out? Huh? How does someone like you find out bout hitmen?”

His fist banged down on the arm of his chair, sending Dean onto his feet. He stalked towards Castiel, a gleam in his eyes as he walked over on bowed legs, hands outstretched and smoothly unlocking the cases without looking at it, throwing back the lid. Castiel stared in horror at the half a dozen rifles and pistols contained inside, a separate case filled with ammunition.

Dean crouched down, out of reach of his partner, rocking on his heels slightly as he watched a range of emotions play across Castiel’s expression and knew that he had to deliver one more blow to his boyfriend.

“I know this Cas, because I’m one of the men hired to kill you.”

His words were soft but Castiel’s mouth dropped open like Dean had delivered a blow to his solar plexus.

“You’re here to kill me?” Castiel jumped to his feet, yanked up the desk lamp throwing it over Dean’s head so that it smashed into the wall. He stood there, fists clenched and blue eyes stormy, flashing with anger.

“God Cas?! Is that really what you think of me? Three years Cas! You think I’d give this up for cash? Seriously? You think that little of me?”

“What the hell am I supposed to think Dean? Huh?” The photographer was yelling, for once towering over his boyfriend, arms shaking in fury, “Not _once_ did you even try to tell me the truth! Was everything a lie?”

“What was I supposed to say Cas?” Dean hadn’t stood up, staying crouched down, his head tilted back to keep holding Castiel’s gaze, “Hi Cas, FYI I kill people for a living.”

“It would’ve been better than this! Anything would’ve been bloody better than this!”

The photographer spun clearly looking for something else to throw and Dean finally straightened up, exhaling through his nose. It took a moment for Castiel to kick over the chair before he turned to look at the assassin with pure disdain. Dean couldn’t see a way to fix this.

“You wanna take a swing?” Dean asked, “Will that make up for all of this? Come on! Hit me! Take a swing.” He stepped closer, putting himself into Castiel’s personal space, “I get it. You’re pissed. But how was I meant to tell you? Tell me that? How would you have liked me to tell you?” Blue eyes narrowed as Dean glared, poking him in the chest, “So do your worst because you would have done the same in my shoes.”

The fist came out of nowhere and connected with his cheekbone, the ring that Castiel always wore cutting into the assassin’s lower eyelid. Dean stumbled backwards, hitting the edge of the bed and ending up sprawled on his ass on the rug, looking up at his heavily breathing boyfriend. A moment later, hands fisted in the collar of his shirt, Castiel crouched over him.

“All those photos you sent me? Was any of it real?”

The photographer’s voice broke slightly on the final word, his anger giving way to despair, and Dean found his hands settling on his forearms, neither restraining nor pulling him closer. Castiel watched the tears spill from the younger man’s eyes, mixing on the left side with the blood from the cut to his eye, sending pink streaks down his cheek.

“Please don’t doubt everything I’ve done Cas, please,” he whispered, throat clogged with tears, “Photography’s my hobby. I couldn’t tell you my job and I know you probably never want to see my face again but _please_ Cas, just listen to me,” his hand moved from Castiel’s forearm to thumb at the tears falling from the blue eyes, “I’d never hurt you. Please tell me you know that. I took the job to protect you,” Castiel scoffed, pulling away quick enough that Dean wasn’t expecting it, “Do you _honestly_ think me callous enough to let anyone hurt you? Let alone let anyone try to kill you?”

“I don’t know what to think _Dean_.”

The assassin was about to snap something back at his partner’s tone of voice but a swift pattern of knocks on the door had both men freezing. The knocks came a second time and Castiel watched how the tension in Dean’s shoulders seemed to leach away as he walked to the door, unlocking it and stepping aside.

Into the room, a very tall man ducked through the door, his long chestnut hair falling into his face briefly before he looked up around the room, eyes looking Castiel up and down before settling on Dean. A smirk pulled on the man’s lips.

“You know I take abusive relationships to court, right?”

“Yeah very funny, Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

“Someone care to tell me what the hell is going on?”

Both men turned to face Cas at his anger filled question, Dean once more looking sheepish as the door finally clicked shut behind them. The stranger stepped forward, holding out a hand that Castiel eyed suspiciously until the man dropped his arm and Dean moved closer.

“Cas, I know you’re probably feeling overwhelmed right know and I’m so sorry to put you through this,” he shrugged, “I know you probably don’t want me around, but I want to make sure you get out of this alive. But it’s totally up to you.” Castiel gave a harsh laugh.

“Yeah because I have experience evading hitmen.”

“Do you err,” Dean swallowed nervously, looking between the two other men.

“I think what my dumbass of a brother is trying to say is, that’s where I come in.”

“Brother?”

“Yes Cas,” Dean said softly as he settled on the bed, “This is my little brother Sammy.”

“Sam.”

“ _Sam_ Winchester.”

“I’m guessing he knows about your _proper_ job then?”

“Wow you take that tone with everyone you like?” Sam cut in before Dean could reply, seeing the hurt barely concealed on his brother’s face, “No,” he held up his hand to stop Castiel before he could reply, “No, this isn’t my brother’s fault. His job only comes into it to save your ungrateful ass, so don’t you dare judge him.”

“He’s a murderer.”

“Semantics.”

Dean watched his younger brother goad his partner into another argument, Sam keeping his smug, courtroom calm as Castiel shouted at him and knew that the assassin was going to have to step in because even though he loved Castiel, he didn’t know if he could watch him throw punches at his little brother.

“Cas,” Dean’s voice was soft but as if the two men were young children, they stopped what they were doing to focus on the quiet words, “Look, I know you’re terrified but I’m going to make sure you survive this.”

“And _how_ are you going to do that huh?”

“Well are you gunna shut up and listen?”

Castiel’s blue eyes widened slightly at the retort, clearly not expecting the anger to be turned on him. Dean ran shaky fingers through his hair, green eyes flicking nervously up to meet blue as hazel eyes stared holes into both of them.

“I don’t know the exact number of men in this “competition” but I’ll contact the guy tomorrow, confirm the kill,” Castiel stiffened, stepping closer with his fists ready, “Jesus Cas, I’m not actually planning on killing you! That’s what make-up’s for!” Sam righted the desk chair and took a seat, surprised at the emotion playing on his brother’s face, emotions that were usually well buried.

“We’ll fake your death, Sam’s gunna take you somewhere safe so that I can deal with this, collect the fee, it’ll give you enough to start somewhere new and,” Dean swallowed, looking at the floor, “And then I’ll stay away. For good.”

“You’d walk away?”

“I wouldn’t want to.”

“Fine. Let’s do this.”

 

Sam helped Dean paint bruises and blood onto Castiel’s face and neck, shadowing around one eye to make it look swollen, make-up darkening the skin around his cheeks and nose as they used a thin piece of metal to apply cuts of blood onto his skin around the eyes and mouth. Through it all, Castiel let the brothers angle his face to where they needed, staying silent as Sam judged the way Dean made blood trickle from the corners of Castiel’s mouth, staining his lips red. His neck was then coated in thick blood, Dean guiding his chin down and up again, green eyes appraising the new look.

The younger brother took over then, guiding the photographer into the bathroom and telling him to strip while he ran the bath, filling the tub with bubbles and hot water. Castiel watched the man hold himself still as he crouched beside the tub, his shoulder length hair having been twisted into a bun at some point.

“I need you to strip,” Sam said without looking, “Then get in the water, but don’t get water on your neck and face.” Castiel swallowed, shying away from the other man as he tugged off his jeans and shirt, pausing before his boxers followed. Sam it appeared, had his eyes shut as Castiel moved passed him, letting his body sink beneath the water until he was modestly covered up. It was then that Sam opened his eyes and began spraying blood across the wall tiles and letting the bubbles stain red, marking Castiel’s bare chest.

“Mouth open, eyes half open, make them vacant,” Sam said, producing a camera. Castiel swallowed and did as he asked, listening to the click of a camera as he stared off at a point on the tiled floor, “What do you see when you look at me?”

“Huh?” Castiel lifted his head slowly, in case Sam told him not to move.

“I’m a successful man, a lawyer, I look it right?”

Castiel nodded, feeling like he was walking into a trap.

“Me? I’m only like this because my brother made a choice when he was fourteen. He made a choice to make sure I got enough food to eat. You don’t get to judge him on that.” Sam straightened up, checking something on the camera, “Did Dean ever mention what I do on the side?”

“No?”

“I’ll admit it’s cliched but I’m a vigilante, someone guilty goes through court and isn’t sent to prison? They join my list and I take them out.” Castiel didn’t look horrified, “I don’t touch them until they’ve gone through the justice system, if they end up in prison, I don’t touch them. They’re the only codes I follow.”

“Is this meant to make me see that Dean as something that he’s not? He kills people for money. You kill criminals.” Sam glared at the older man, stepping back to lock the bathroom door, enclosing them inside the small room. They were silent at the called question from Dean and Sam knocked out a quick pattern against the door. Castiel was still in the bathtub as Sam closed the toilet seat lid and sat down.

“My mom died before I was a year old, someone set a fire in our home and she didn’t make it out. My dad went off the rails, dragging us up and down the country where he’d leave us in a motel for weeks at a time with fifty dollars to last us until he decided to wander back in. Dean, he dropped outta school to take care of me and make sure that I stayed in school,” Castiel watched as hazel eyes flashed, “When I was ten, my dad up and left for good, and Dean, he was given a choice. To sell his body or kill people for money. Every choice he made, still makes is for me. And if he was the person you think he is, he wouldn’t be listening on the other side of this door, he’d have killed you in that pub.”

“I –,”

“Look my brother, for some reason really loves you, and if you can’t see that, then you’re a bigger dumbass than you look,” Sam watched the man’s eyes narrowed, “Now he’s offering to walk away, just to make you happy no matter _what_ it means for him. So, you need to decide before you leave this bathroom what you’re gunna do. But either way, you’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future.” The younger man unlocked the door and exited the bathroom, leaving Castiel to scrub off the make-up and fake blood before redressing, using the time to re-organize his thoughts.

 

Dean didn’t like Sam’s expression when he came out of the bathroom, arm extended to drop the Canon onto the bed. His younger brother said nothing though, taking a moment to squeeze Dean’s shoulder as the assassin moved around the room, gathering his stuff and slowly cleaning his Colt when he slumped into the desk chair, using the familiar task to calm his nerves. Sam lay down on the bed, picking up the journal that his brother kept and flipping through to the section where Dean wrote down job offers. There was a running theme to the jobs he took, like those Sam himself acted on, that is until he came to the details about at the hit on one Castiel Novak. 

“You got the jet sorted right?”

“Yeah Dean, flying straight to Guatemala tonight then we’ll make our way up to Texas. Jess is looking forward to have a guest.”

“Your boss fine with you disappearing for that long? You’ve only been with the firm a few months.”

“A year Dean, as a full lawyer. I’ve been interning with them since I was eighteen.” Dean rolled his eyes, “Yeah he doesn’t mind, since I never even took a sick day as intern.” Sam closed the book and rolled onto his stomach, “Jess wants you to spend some time with us once this is over. Especially because you know she’s gunna fawn all over your boyfriend.” Dean gave his brother a look but didn’t reprimand him as the bathroom door opened.

Castiel still had slight red marks on his skin from the fake blood and his wet hair was plastered to his forehead but Dean had barely any time to register those facts before Castiel was collapsing onto his lap, his arms around Dean’s neck, face buried in his collar. The assassin was tense, staring wide-eyed between his brother and his boyfriend, until Cas pulled back.

“I’m sorry.”

“What? Why are you apologizing?” As Dean looked confused, Cas’s eyes filled with tears, holding the younger man closer as he began crying, mumbling brokenly that he was scared. Dean felt the tears soaking through the over-shirt and t-shirt he was wearing, both of them apologizing to each other. Dean’s cheek rested on his partner’s head, holding him close as the sobs shook Cas hard enough that Dean felt like he was vibrating. When Cas stilled and began pressing kisses to Dean’s neck, he gripped Cas’s hips, pulling back slightly.

“If my brother wasn’t sitting on the bed waiting for us, make-up sex would totally be on the cards right now.” Cas laughed as Sam groaned loud enough to get their attention and Dean pushed the photographer to his feet, straightening up after him. He leant in to capture the photographer’s mouth, deepening the kiss briefly before he heard Sam begin muttering.

“You’ve got places to be,” Dean said softly, his hand cupping Cas’s jaw, offering a watery smile, “Sam’s gunna take care of you until I sort this out. He’ll look out for you.” Cas nodded and turned to see Sam standing by the door now, two bags in his hands. Both the brothers saw the surprised look on Cas’s face and Dean chuckled.

“Yeah that’s your bag.”

“Jeez you two are terrifying.” Dean caught his boyfriend from behind in a final hug, knowing that his brother was currently rolling his eyes but if he delayed them any longer, Sam would be kicking his boyfriend out of the door.

“I’ll see you soon alright,” Dean said to Cas before allowing his little brother to wrap his moose arms around him, “Please be careful with him.”

“Will do. Stay safe Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

The assassin watched his brother tuck his boyfriend under his arm and lead him from the room, barely waiting for the door to click shut before he was gathering he needed to begin his hunt.

 

~~~~~~~

 

Dean crouched before the door, lifting the owl shaped flower pot to access the key, unlocking the door and letting himself into the two-story house, almost tripping over a baby toy. Well someone had some explaining to do. He made his way to the kitchen, pausing to look at the photos hung up around the room before settling down at the island to wait out, his body for once glad that he wasn’t lying on some roof somewhere underneath a tarp.

It had been a long year of hunting down the men competing to kill Castiel Novak. Three of them had still been near the pub when he’d retraced his steps all those months ago, but the other four men had taken some work to track down, all of them sleaze-balls. He’d sent the kill-fee to his brother once his employer decided the photographs were real. Dean had tracked him down, discovering what the man was worried Cas had exposed, getting the hitmen’s aliases before stringing the man up as the code he followed, commanded. And then he’d continued on his mission to make his boyfriend safe once more.

He sat there in the darkening kitchen, getting up to switch on the lights only when his stomach protested the fact that he’d not eaten since the plane food he’d had the day before. It wasn’t long after that the assassin heard a key in the lock and realized that he’d forgotten to lock it when he’d come in. Even from the kitchen, he heard the hesitation and he eased to his feet.

“Whoever’s in my house had better get their butt out into the open otherwise I’m gunna shoot you.” Dean leant against the door frame, watching as a man and woman stood facing away from him, looking up the stairs.

“Will I get bullets in the ass if I give you my card to take the moose out for dinner?”

“Done.”

Dean tossed his wallet under arm, not even looking at his sister-in-law as he stared into blue eyes. A peripheral part of him was aware that Jess said goodbye and that she and Sam would be charging a hotel for the night onto his card, leaving with the small baby who had yet to meet their uncle. At the sound of the door closing, both men were moving forward, Dean catching Cas in his arms and holding him close, Cas’s hands on his cheeks as their mouths met.

“You’re actually here.”

“Hey Cas.”

Teeth caught Dean’s bottom lip and a whine escaped his throat as Cas’s hands moved down to grip his ass, his lips trailing down to suck marks onto his neck. Dean let the feelings of being reunited with his boyfriend, of not being rejected, wash over him, pull him along until he didn’t know how long they’d been standing in the hallway making out, grinding together, before an image of his brother’s best bitch face appeared in his mind.

“My brother’s going to kick our asses if we have sex anywhere downstairs,” he pulled back to look Cas in the eye, “You got a bedroom in this place?” a grin spread across his face like the sun appearing from behind clouds and Dean was barely able to keep his footing as Cas yanked him towards the stairs, “Anyone would think you missed me.”

“Don’t tempt me into tying you up and not letting you come.” Cas snapped back with his signature eyebrow shot over his shoulder as Dean scrambled up the stairs behind him, pausing in the entrance to the third room down. Technically, they’d been dating for almost four years, though the last twelve months had been horribly lonely, but in that time, Dean had only ever seen Cas in his hotel rooms. Here though, in this Austin house, he seemed settled, books stacked on the bedside table, his laptop and photo editing kit set-up on the desk, the open wardrobe door revealing clothes that were actually hung up.

“You gunna stand there and stare or…”

Dean kicked the door shut, pulling his t-shirt over his head, his over-shirt having been left in the kitchen as Cas watched from the bed, his button and fly undone, his hand down his pants. He stripped completely before climbing onto the bed to hover over his boyfriend, supporting himself on one hand as the other undid the buttons of Cas’s shirt, kissing each new section of revealed skin. Cas arched his back every time Dean let his teeth scrape against his ribs and stomach. He took the time to relearn the spots that had Cas whining his enjoyment, his fingers fisting in his hair every time he did something the older man liked.

“I’ve missed you,” Dean muttered against his skin, gently easing the clothes off Cas’s limbs, “God, I want you in me _and_ I wanna be in you.” Hands tightened in Dean’s short hair, tugging his face away from where he was sucking a mark onto the older man’s abs until he was kissing plump lips. The moment of lost attention has Dean flipped onto his back, the breath knocked out of him.

“I’m serious about tying you up and not letting you come,” Cas whispered, straddling Dean’s hips, “You’ve kept me waiting for a year, you think you get to decide tonight.” His fingers lightly traced circles around Dean’s nipples.

“Was tryna keep you safe,” the assassin murmured, back arching slowly until quick fingers twisted a nipple and the sharp pain had him yelping and lying flat on the mattress, Cas glaring down at him. The older man climbed off Dean, silencing him when he began to protest, crouching down to get something from under the bed. He climbed back up to sit on Dean’s stomach with a pair of handcuffs dangling from an index finger.

Slowly, Dean lifted his hands to grip the wooden slats of the headboard, Cas’s chest pressing against his as the lightly padded cuffs tightened to hold his wrists in place. A kiss to his temple and his boyfriend was sitting up once more. Dean twitched his fingers, wanting to touch his partner, especially when Cas revealed the bottle of lube, coating his fingers and reaching behind him.

“Come on Cas, now you’re being cruel,” Blue eyes glinted as a smile appeared, his hand settling on the center of Dean’s chest for balance as Cas leant forward, grinding ever so slightly against the assassin’s stomach to give himself some friction, “Please I wanna touch you.” Cas leant forward even further, nipping at his ear lobe. Dean could feel him moving, feel him opening himself up and he shifted to capture his boyfriend’s mouth with his own, biting down on his bottom lip to show his annoyance, even as Cas was chuckling.

Sighing, Dean slumped into the mattress, deciding that there was no way to persuade his boyfriend from whatever he had planned, and it was best to go with the flow. Apparently, Cas didn’t want him flowing too far because only a few minutes later of kisses being placed, sucked and blown across the sensitive sections of his neck and collar, Cas was moving to straddle his thighs.

The photographer looked down at lust glazed green eyes, missing the feel of the man beneath him and liking the image of his boyfriend staying in his bed more than he thought he would. From the bedside table, he pulled out a condom, carefully opening it with his teeth. Dean watched him through narrowed eyes, as if he thought Cas was going to get up and leave. Leaning forward to press a kiss to Dean’s erection as he jacked him, earning a whine and an arched back, Dean’s cock almost taking his eye out.

“Alright, alright,” Cas smiled, rolling the condom down onto Dean’s erection and lubing it up before shifting further up his body. Dean’s chest was completely still as Cas reached behind him, taking his cock in hand and guided himself slowly down onto it. The photographer hissed, realizing that he hadn’t stretched himself enough and that toys hadn’t really cut it these last twelve months. Dean struggled to hold himself still until Cas had bottomed out, the tight heat around him almost overwhelming that he barely held back from thrusting hard into it.

“God you feel so good Dean,” Cas breathed out, mouth falling open as he panted, shifting slightly, testing whether he was ready to move yet, “Never going this long without you again.” Dean arched his back once more as Cas rolled his hips and leant forward to capture his mouth. Their tongues battled against each other, Cas’s hands finding a home in Dean’s hair, fingers resting against his neck, angling his face up as Dean thrust up, his boyfriend crying out at the movement.

“Let me free,” Den murmured into his mouth, wanting to hold Cas, run his hands up and down the other man’s sides, play with his nipples until he was a squirming mess about to come. When Cas seemed to hesitate, Dean turned his head to nip hard at the man’s earlobe, growling in his throat, “Release my hands so I can fuck you properly.

A moment later, the metal around Dean’s wrists fell away and he slowly trailed his fingers down Cas’s arms, across his ribs – pausing to thumb his nipples into peaks – and down his abs to settled on the man’s prominent hipbones. Catching hold of the blue eyes, Dean circled Cas’s erection, stroking him until his back arched and a breath was almost punched out of him before catching him by surprise and flipping them, hands pressed hard into the mattress either side of Cas’s shocked expression, angling his hips deep.

Dean held himself above his boyfriend, watching the emotions flash rapidly across Cas’s face as he began pounding into him. When Cas began muttering his name over and over, his fingers digging into Dean’s ass to keep him close, the assassin shifted his weight and slipped a hand between their bodies, taking Cas in hand to jack him to completion.

Cas’s back arched, chest pressing against Dean’s as he came over their stomachs. The tightening around Dean sent him over the edge with a cry, his arm shaking hard enough that he collapsed onto Cas, barely stopping himself from smacking their heads together. Their sweat slicked bodies were almost uncomfortably sticking together but neither of them moved, Cas’s arms coming up to keep Dean against him.

“Whadda you say to coming out of hiding and moving in with me,” Dean whispered as soon as he felt he’d recovered enough, slowly easing himself out of Cas’s body to settle beside him, propping Cas’s head on his arm as he traced shapes on his stomach.

“I think we should wait a few days,” Cas murmured back, his eyes shutting, cheek pressed close to Dean’s collarbone, a yawn breaking free, “Think Jess would skin us if we up and left before you spent time with them. You’ll probably have to babysit. I hope you’re up to it, because she may be small but she’s terrifying when she thinks her baby’s not okay.”

“So, she showed you her true colors, I don’t think Sammy could marry anyone other than a firecracker,” Dean smiled, nuzzling his nose against the man’s temple, “Sounds like you’ve been properly welcomed to the family then.” Cas’s eyes cracked open, the blue glinting with unadulterated happiness and Dean couldn’t help thinking that he didn’t ever want to miss out on another moment with this man.


End file.
